Had it been wise to invite the woman he loved, along with her uncle and aunt, to live under his roof while he pined for her with every single breath? Perhaps not - but Fitzwilliam Darcy was rather too far gone to care.
The decanter lay empty beside his glass in the grand master suite of Pemberley as Darcy picked up his drink. If he were married, this spacious sitting room would not be his alone. The bedroom to the left would be his, but he might deign to spend some nights, or most nights, in the bedroom on the right instead. Unbidden, his eyes wandered to the entrance to the mistress's chambers. His mother used to live there, several lifetimes ago. But he had long since stopped thinking of the room as hers.
Now, the only woman Darcy wished to have there - the only woman to ever bewitch him, body and soul - was just down the hall, a few bedrooms down. He had made the foolish slip of the tongue when ordering Mrs. Reynolds to house Elizabeth and the Gardiners in the family wing instead of the guest wing along with the Bingleys. Mrs. Reynolds, despite a curious, knowing glance, had dutifully obeyed. So Darcy now had no one else to blame for his unrest.
He swallowed the rest of his drink, slid the glass onto the side table, and marched to the window. The view from his bedroom was pleasant, but the one from the sitting room was outright enchanting. Would Elizabeth love the view? He knew she would. Her compliments about Pemberley's beauty at dinner tonight had seemed sincere, even if she did not seem to enjoy agreeing with Miss Bingley.
Darcy smiled as he thought of the two ladies. One dressed simply, her manners vibrant yet genteel. The other, while draped in the most expensive fabrics, exhibited only crassness. Georgiana had looked intimidated by Miss Bingley, all while smiling warmly at Elizabeth.
How was it possible that he had used to think himself suited to someone of Miss Bingley's style? He had never preferred Caroline Bingley herself, but he had considered some of her schoolmates. He had wondered, particularly in the dark days immediately after Ramsgate, if he ought to marry whatever woman his Aunt Matlock could find for him. Thank God he had kept his mouth shut until he left for Hertfordshire with Bingley. His life had never been the same since.
A knock interrupted him.
"Mr. Darcy." His young valet's voice cut through the door.
"Come in."
Davis, a slender young man from Lambton, entered and bowed his mop of brown hair. It was perhaps a little unconventional to hire such a young valet, but Darcy preferred to offer the local villagers employment whenever he could. And Davis, even if he were not particularly intelligent, was at least unobtrusive and helpful.
"What time ought I to wake you tomorrow, Mr. Darcy?"
"Ah." Darcy smiled grimly. It was something that David truly ought to have asked earlier, but perhaps the young man was still growing accustomed to his job. "Have my water and clothing be ready by eight."
"Very good, sir."
"That is all."
Davis retreated, and Darcy decided to retire himself. Leaving behind the expanse of the sitting room, he ensconced himself in his bedroom. He shed his dressing gown, placed his signet ring on the night table, and picked a book. Elizabeth had brought up Hamlet twice at dinner tonight. Perhaps it was time for a review.
He had barely fallen asleep when the sounds of shuffling fabric roused him. Darcy frowned, his senses tired yet not entirely dulled. Was there an unruly draft tugging at some stray curtain or sheet somewhere? He shook his head as he pulled to a seat. Davis might be inexperienced, but he was not so entirely negligent.
He was just about to turn in once more when a voice joined the shuffling.
"Darcy. Darcy, darling," the female voice cooed.
Suddenly wide awake, Darcy rushed off the bed and tugged on his dressing gown. He heard his book, and perhaps the extinguished contents of his chamberstick, clatter to the floor. Those things barely mattered at the moment. He had been through this dance before. Many a house party had resulted in unexpected, unwanted guests being found in single gentlemen's bedrooms - an altogether unhappy situation for one or all. He had been taught to be wary at a young age. One did not wait to see if there was a misunderstanding.
When faced with the possibility of an infiltrator bent upon forcing marriage, one fled first and investigated later. One never knew if an accomplice waited in the wings.
Relying on his familiarity with the master suite, Darcy followed the wall and unbolted the door that linked him directly to the hallway. He usually preferred the sitting room entrance, allowing him some respite between the communal nature of the hallway and the privacy of his room, but he had a predator to flee.
It was almost ridiculous - that men who held so much power in society could be so easily become the cornered prey of desperate, marriage-minded women. He did not have to marry anyone if he did not want to, but he also did not want any sort of scandal tainting the Darcy name, not when he relied upon it so dearly to protect Georgiana. And if an intruder was already within earshot, then it was certainly not the hour for casual introspection, and Darcy rushed down the hallway as safely as he could in the dark.
Could he not have had more candles installed in the hallway? The desire to prevent accidents had felt like a wise one after his neighbor's manor caught fire last year. Now, Darcy cursed the darkness.
His mind had cleared enough now to make him realize the identity of the intruder. It had to be Miss Bingley. There were no other women in the house save Georgiana and Louisa Hurst. The former would not coo in that skin-crawling way or call him Darcy or appear in his chambers at all. The latter - well, God forbid that Louisa Hurst was as immoral as she was ill-bred.
Determined to thwart Miss Bingley's audacity, Darcy's hand followed the wall closely until he touched the edge of a door frame. Thank goodness Pemberley was large enough to have a separate guest wing. He could at least count upon finding a refuge nearby without disturbing Bingley. He would much rather not have that conversation with his friend.
He did not know if he imagined it or not, but the sounds of Caroline Bingley's shuffling seemed to persist behind him, and Darcy quickly tugged the door open, slipped inside, and efficiently shut the door behind him.
He blinked, surprised to find the room lit, if dimly. Georgiana's room was down the other end of the hall. There was no reason for there to be -
His breath caught at the same time his eyes landed on the turned down bed in the middle of the spacious bedroom. Beside the bed, in little more than her sleeping clothes, with her hair pleated down on one side, framing her enchanting features, stood Elizabeth Bennet, her mouth gaping as much as Darcy's own must be.
There was one more young woman in Pemberley tonight - and Darcy hardly knew to laugh or to cry that he'd momentarily forgotten that fact during his flight.
A/N: Miss Bingley is extremely stupid and over-the-top in this one, but we need her for a plot device, so here we go!